


Suck it up, Buttercup

by vanessa_cardui



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Conditioning, Forced blowjobs, HuCows, Humiliation, Hypnosis, M/M, Mad Science, Prostate Milking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanessa_cardui/pseuds/vanessa_cardui
Summary: Derrick has two problems:1) His roommate, Mark, is a bit of a dick.2) Whenever Mark says the word "buttercup", Derrick finds himself naked on his hands and knees without remembering how he got there.





	Suck it up, Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



"Yeah, well," said Mark. "We've all got problems. Suck it up, buttercup."

It was just Mark being a dick to someone online. Someone in his guild, or whatever it was—Derrick had mostly stopped playing video games in high school, so he wasn't sure if they had guilds or teams or what—but when he heard that, he was instantly uncomfortable. He'd been uncomfortable for a while, actually, but it was suddenly worse.

Mark wasn't paying attention to him—something had blown up on his screen, and now he was laughing about something else, so he didn't really notice when Derrick got up, and went to his room.

It was a fucking relief to get undressed, actually. He wore boxers normally, but it turned out that he'd managed to misclick on his Amazon order, so he'd gotten these boxer-briefs and they were too fucking tight, and it wasn't like he could afford to just throw them out, and--

"Things getting a little cramped back there, huh," said Mark behind him.

Derrick tensed. "Door was closed."

"And now it's open," said Mark. "And you're naked on your hands and knees, because your balls are just getting too big to keep in your pants. So I guess--"

Derrick got up and slammed the door behind him. Which was way too thin to drown out Mark's braying laugh.

What the fuck was that? Because yeah, his balls were feeling pretty crushed, actually, and it wasn't like... what the hell was Mark doing in there? Why had he been... he was just going to put on some basketball shorts. They were loose, and that was fine. And no way he was going back out to the living room after that, so he got his laptop out and got some work done, and then he got to looking at porn and jerked off. Maybe that was the problem? It'd been a while, honestly.

Wasn't a great orgasm or anything, but it was enough to get him to sleep.

Next day was worse. He was wearing boxers, but maybe because he'd been thinking about it, he felt. . . compressed, a lot, and whenever he was sitting for too long, he had to get up and adjust, but he didn't really stay adjusted.

When he got back home, Mark was there again, and looking smug. "Looking cramped, buttercup," he said, and Derrick groaned, half collapsing. He couldn't, he just...

"Go to your room and take the position," he said. "I'll take care of it for you."

He wasn't going to... there wasn't any reason... if it was something medical, he'd get a doctor to look at it, and--

Derrick didn't even remember going to his room, or getting his pants off, but he was up on his bed, on his hands and knees, looking away from the door when Mark came in.

"There you go," said Mark, softly. He put something down on the bed; Derrick couldn't see it; his eyes were firmly closed, and he wasn't going to... he just was going to pretend that it wasn't happening, and it'd be over, and it'd be fine. He didn't know how he knew this was going to finish it, but he knew.

There was the plastic noises of something being opened, something wet squirting, and Mark started massaging his balls. That wasn't. . . Derrick was turned on; he'd been having trouble keeping from having public boners most of the day, and this wasn't on his cock, but it felt good. Better than it should've. He groaned, once, and Mark chuckled, patted his side.

"That's right," he said. "There you go. Let's get it all out, huh?"

He was... Mark hadn't even touched his cock. Just his balls, squeezing, kneading... Derrick tensed, and as soon as he started to come, Mark's hand was on his cock, forcing it down, so that his come spattered onto... into? Something. And there was a lot of it. He kept pulsing, harder and harder, not able to breathe, his stomach tensing and twisting, and he couldn't. It kept going. It kept going until it hurt, until it was past hurting.

When the last weak spasms passed through him, Derrick collapsed down on his side, breathing hard, not sure about anything.

Another pat on his side. "That'll keep you for a couple of days, anyway, that's a good cow."

The fuck?

But Mark had already left, taking... a bottle, maybe? With him. And Derrick was too tired to get up and talk to him, and he was already asleep.

The next morning, Derrick slept through the first alarm, so he had to run out to work before he could talk to Mark, and Mark had gone out with his friends by the time he got back, and by the morning after that, it had gotten so that it would've been weird to bring it up again, and Derrick just decided to pretend it hadn't happened, and maybe start looking for his own place as soon as he could, or maybe a job somewhere else.

Only the day after that, he was already feeling... he'd finally gotten rid of those briefs and bought a new three-pack of boxers, but even so he was feeling uncomfortable sitting again, and it wasn't just that. It was like he'd swallowed something wrong, or he was constipated or something. There was a weight inside him, just behind his hips, and it didn't go away after he used the bathroom, or anything.

Mark was playing video games again, when he got back, and it was time to talk about it.

"Mark?" he said. "Mark!"

Mark sighed like he'd been asked to take out the trash twice in a week or something, paused his game, and took off his headset. "What?"

"What's going on, Mark? I mean, with me?"

"Wha... oh, that! Bothering you again, huh?"

"Yes it's bothering me again, but what is it? What's happening?"

"Well," said Mark, drawing the word out. "I guess I can tell you that it's partially a post-hypnotic suggestion. And that's, you know, I mean, that's really all you need to know at this point."

"No, it isn't! I can't--"

"Sure it is, buttercup," said Mark, and whatever the weight sitting behind Derrick's hips was, it tripled when Mark said that. "Anyhow, go to your room, take your position, and I'll take care of it when I'm done with this game. Okay?"

It wasn't okay, but it had gotten to the point where it hurt, it hurt so much that Derrick couldn't think straight. He groaned, and Mark grinned as he put his headphones back on. "Go on, get along," said Mark, and Derrick wanted to stand and argue, but instead, he went back to his room, and undressed, and got up on his bed, on his hands and knees.

Post-hypnotic suggestion? But hypnosis only worked when the subject was willing to play along; that's what he'd been taught in college, and he'd won a few bets about that. Maybe one with Mark?

Derrick tried to remember, but he couldn't, and he was aching, and he had to hold his legs apart, because even the touch of his thighs against his balls hurt, they were so sensitive, and he couldn't... Mark came in behind him, and Derrick found himself relaxing, despite everything.

His thighs against his balls hurt; Mark's hand caressing them felt good, felt warm and soft and smooth, and... he made an inarticulate noise, and Mark chuckled, patted the side of his ass. "That's a boy," he said. "Little tender? Could be we're going to have to move this up to every day. You'd like that, huh? Let it all out, every day?"

If felt good, but the weight behind his hips was still there; it hurt, like he was having stomach cramps, like he'd swallowed something too large, and it was heating up now.

Mark noticed and sighed; he took his hands off of Derrick, and Derrick bit his lip to keep from whining about that. Then there was the snap of a latex glove.

He started at that, looked back. Mark shook his head. "Easy there, easy," he said. "It hurts, right? Don't worry, we'll get that all out."

The cool slickness of lube, and then Mark's finger pushed into his ass. Derrick grunted, looking forward. That hurt and was uncomfortable, and he couldn't face it. He looked forward, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to... 

There was a sudden pressure around Derrick's cock, a weight, as Mark fitted something over it, his finger still probing into Derrick's ass. Then he let go, and whatever it was swung, fastened to Derrick's cock by a glue or something. He tried to look back at it, but Mark moved that other hand to his balls, and he couldn't think anymore.

There was just the pressure of that finger up his ass, and there was the sensation of Mark's hand on his balls, massaging them, moving them, their weight against the soft heat of Mark's hand. Derrick's hips were thrusting, but there wasn't enough pressure on his cock, and there was something... it felt like there was a wall inside, that he couldn't push through it, that he couldn't.

Then Mark's finger found the point of that hot weight behind Derrick's hips. He was coming, harder than he ever had. And it didn't stop; he wanted it to end, and it didn't. The pressure on his balls and the finger in his ass were forcing out more and more and still more. It felt like he was getting lighter with each pump of his hips; it felt like all of him was coming out as he fucked into whatever it was that Mark had attached to his cock, which wasn't giving any pressure, which didn't feel like anything, it was all coming from his balls, which were rising and tensing and emptying, over and over, Mark's hand warm against them, and from inside.

When he was done, Mark twisted his finger, wringing out one final convulsion. Derrick collapsed on his side, finally able to breathe. Mark chuckled, undid whatever seal it was that was holding the thing onto his cock. Which was unbearably sensitive; even the lightest touch brought tears to his eyes. There was a tube, and there was a bottle... no way that he could've filled that whole thing, but... he was already falling asleep, even though he didn't want to, even though he needed to know, needed to understand and couldn't.

His last thought before he passed out was that at least the weekend was coming up. He'd have some time off. He'd figure it out. Mark would explain; he'd make Mark explain.

#

When Derrick woke up, it was already morning, and as soon as he put his boxers on, he was already feeling compressed. He took them back off, and stared at his cock. It looked... well, his cock looked normal, pretty much. A little stiff, because he'd just woke up and kind of needed to piss. His balls were... he didn't want to touch them. Didn't really want to touch his cock, either, which was. . . but his balls were bigger than they should be. Not as big as they felt, because they felt like they were the size of apples or something. But they were were swollen, and sore, and they'd grown.

It hurt when he put his underwear on, but he put his boxers on, and some sweats, and went to have it out with Mark. No way that this was all some hypnosis thing. There was something going on, and he needed to find out what it was.

Mark was out on the couch, playing video games again.

"We have to talk," said Derrick.

Mark rolled his eyes, but he paused his game. "About what?"

"What's going on?" he said. "What's... what have you done to me?"

"Helped you out with a problem," said Mark. "Honestly, I've been doing this without getting anything out of it, and that's going to have to change."

Derrick didn't want to talk about it. He really didn't want to talk about it. But he had to. "Why don't I fit into my boxers anymore?" he said, through gritted teeth. "Why are you... why are you jerking me off, what the hell is going on that I'm coming enough to fill jars?"

Mark gave a laugh-snort, and Derrick turned away, not able to face that.

"Hey, you're the one with a job in biotech," said Mark. "You tell me what's going on with you, huh?"

"No," said Derrick. "Look, just because I'm working on enzyeme sorting techniques doesn't mean that I know anything about this; it's--"

"Sorry," said Mark. "But where do you think that you guys are getting the raw material you're sorting through?"

"It's wild genetic..." Derrick trailed off. Mark was smirking and shaking his head. "They've done this before?"

"Well, you know," said Mark. "They know who's getting jobs from out of town, and doesn't have anyone to put into their next of kin lines on their job forms."

"No," said Derrick. "That's not..." it was, and it was... it made sense. They were trying to get specific enzymes and hormones that were supposed to come from genetically modified mammals--goats and so on. But it'd be easier to generate what they were looking for with people, and... "I'm going to the cops," he said.

"Sure you are, buttercup," said Mark.

Derrick froze. There was a sudden heat at the back of his neck, and his sweatpants had become unbearably tight.

"No," he said, quietly. "No. Stop this, please."

"Sure!" said Mark, with a big smile. He put his hands up. "No touching, until you ask me to."

"That not--"

"Argue more, and you're going to have to do more than just ask," he said.

"Please, Mark," said Derrick. "You can't do this... I need..."

"Well, I need to pay my bills," said Mark. "Someone's gotta, now that you can't get into work anymore. And if you want to be milked again..."

Derrick reared back to punch him, but couldn't. He hadn't gotten into an actual fist-fight since high school, but that wasn't it. He just couldn't.

Mark saw that he'd tried, though. "There's some kid's face paint in the bathroom," he said, his face hardening. "And an enema kit. Clean yourself out, and put some of those cow blotches on your face."

Derrick stared at him.

"I mean, and you're going to be sucking my cock, but that's pretty much a given."

Then Mark sat back down and unpaused his game.

He wanted to shout, he wanted to cry, but he knew that if he tried either of those, Mark would say "buttercup" again and make everything worse.

Just thinking that word hurt. It was... Derrick retreated to his room, jammed a chair up against the door, and got undressed. It wasn't just that his boxers were too tight. His skin was too hot, too sensitized.

He didn't know what they'd done to him. Something to his prostate? It was just that the last time he'd taken a bio course was in college; he'd been working in chemistry and algorithms since then. They'd been working on hormones? Maybe if they'd given him a megadose of the impotence treatment that was going through FDA approval or something? He didn't know, and he couldn't think. There was that weight behind his hips again, there was the pounding of pulse in his temples.

Okay. If it was the impotence thing, it lasted for a while, but not forever. His food? Probably. Mark was always poking around in the fridge. He'd be able to put whatever he wanted into Derrick's food without Derrick noticing. Fine. He'd... he could go a few days without eating. Water from the bathroom faucet, nothing else until he could get dressed again, and then he was out. Fucking... there were whistleblower protections, and he'd...

There was that weight behind his hips, there was the weight of his balls, there was the heat in his skin. A few days? He wasn't going to last a few hours.  
It'd gotten better after he'd come, though. Derrick was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, his hand drifting toward his cock. There was Jessie, who he'd dated in college, and she'd.

He winced and gritted his teeth in pain, the instant he touched his cock. It was sore, sensitive, like he'd just fucked or something. He tried for another couple of minutes, no longer than that. It didn't work, and it wasn't going to work. It hurt too much. And the weight behind his hips was growing, the heat.

He couldn't leave, he couldn't jerk off. He'd have to last it out. However much they'd given him, it'd pass through his system before... he'd drink more water, use the bathroom more, flush it out.

It wasn't easy to stand because of how sore his balls were, how his thighs pressed against them. And as he waddled out to the bathroom, Mark gave him an amused look. "It'd be easier if you crawled," he said. Derrick ignored him. Once he'd gotten it out of his system, he'd... once he'd got it out of his system.

He drank from the faucet in the sink, not trusting the cup. He had to sit to pee, because it hurt to hold his cock, went back to his room, waited. Then he did it again, and again.  
It wasn't getting better. It was getting worse. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't... there was that enema kit that Mark had mentioned. Maybe it'd help? He needed something there, something to push against what was happening inside of him.

And if he gave up, he'd... no. He wasn't going to give up, he wasn't going to have Mark... no.

Getting the enema in was unpleasant; pushing the nozzle in, and getting the water to flow and so on... it was gross and didn't feel good, and he was making a mistake. But there was also something to the pressure of it; he sat, holding it in, his hand on his stomach, trying not to think, trying to remember what it felt like when Mark's hand found that spot....

A cramp knifed through him, and he was on the toilet, and it all came out, leaving him empty and aching. Back to his room, and, yeah, it was easier when he crawled. Didn't really make sense why it was easier, but it was. The weight of his balls was more centered, sort of, the pressure from his thighs wasn't as bad.  
It wasn't too long before he found himself on his hands and knees on his bed, remembering what Mark's hand felt like on him, what that release had felt like. It had been so... he'd been so empty afterwards, so relaxed, so... no.

No!

There was some sort of hypnosis thing, and then they'd dosed him with something. But hypnosis would only work if he let it work, and the drugs would work their way out of his system, sooner or later. He'd outlast it, he wouldn't listen, he wasn't going to do what they wanted. He'd stay in his room until he could get dressed, then he'd go somewhere, let them know what they'd done to him.

He just had to stay in his room, and wait it out. No matter how much his balls hurt, no matter how heavy the weight behind his hips became, no matter how hot his skin was, how soft and sure Mark's hands had been, how good it would feel to just let it all out and relax afterward, empty and dreaming, and forgetting.  
It took three hours and fifteen minutes before he was crawling out to the living room, naked, blotches of face-paint on his cheek and forehead. It hurt too much, it burned too hot, he couldn't think enough.

Mark was on his headset. When he saw Derrick crawling out, he smirked, made a "come here" gesture. Derrick crawled over. "Just a sec," he said, into the headset, then muted it, flipped the mic up.

"Tongue," he said, and Derrick stuck out his tongue, hesitantly, not wanting to, but needing to.

Mark cupped his chin with his hand, rubbed his thumb over his tongue. That felt shockingly good; Derrick couldn't help wriggling a little at that touch, his eyes fixed on Mark's.

"See, if you'd been less stubborn, I'd have taken care of this sooner. But now, you gotta wait till the end of the match."

Mark slipped his shorts off, sat back down, put the headset back on. "Just my roommate being a lil' bitch," he said. He gave Derrick an irritate look, and pointed down at his cock, which was half-hard, lying on the mesh of his office chair.

He wasn't... there was the heat and weight behind his hips. He needed it. He'd broken, he'd given in. Derrick scooted forward a little, took Mark's cock in his mouth.

Mark was playing his game again, but he moved the mic up, away from his mouth. "Both hands on me," he said. "At all times. Look at me. And just hold it there. I'll fuck when I want to fuck. Just keep it in your mouth until I start moving. You can suck a little."

Then he looked down, and smirked at Derrick. "That's a good boy," he said. He ruffled Derrick's hair, and then put his mic back down. "Yeah, he's still a bitch, but at least he's not bothering me now."

Derrick had given in because it hurt too much not to. It still hurt. He'd never. . . there was an unfamiliar at acrid saltiness at the head of Mark's cock, and it hurt to kneel like that, his hands cradling Mark's balls, his eyes up, watching Mark watching his screen. And yet there was something about it. Something vaguely soothing, despite what he was doing, despite the paint on his face and the pain in his knees and back and inside.

He stayed there, sucking at Mark's slowly stiffening cock, as Mark played his game. Then came a pause in the game, and Mark's hand was at the back of his head, holding him in place as he fucked his throat, hard, making him choke and gag and not letting him pull away until he came, four, five, hot, horrible tasting spurts; Derrick swallowed, because he couldn't do anything else, and got a light slap in return.

"You'll do better," said Mark. "Now, keep it there until I'm ready to get that stuff out of you, huh? And no sucking. Lips and tongue, no teeth. Gentle, buttercup."

The word was like a coal pushed between Derrick's thighs. He groaned, tears at the corners of his eyes. If Mark... how long could it possibly be? There was a softening cock in his mouth, as Mark got back online and finished up his game. And then he seemed to take forever going to the bathroom, then going to his room to get a vacuum thing and a bottle, and a glove.

And then, finally, finally, that vacuum thing went onto Derrick's cock, and Mark started caressing his balls. It felt so good, Derrick wasn't even sure why he was crying. There was the cool slickness of the lube, and then Mark's finger inside of him. Two of them, spreading him open, looking for the spot.

He was breathing in ragged little gasps, his heart racing, his skin on fire, everything hurt and everything felt good, and when Mark found the point, he burst open from the inside, pain and pleasure and a pulse from his hips like he'd had his belly cut open and everything was coming out. He was on all fours, but he couldn't hold it; he was collapsing, and Mark was holding him up with one hand as the other pressed down inside, firmly, rubbing the point, forcing out every last drop, until finally Derrick was done, and the thing was unfastened from his cock, and he could collapse onto the floor, drained and empty and just staring blankly at the wall.

"See?" said Mark. "Doesn't pay to be stubborn. Tell you what; you have a nice little nap there, and we'll see if we can get you a milking rack couple of days early, huh? You'll like that, won't you."

He wouldn't. But he didn't even have the strength to argue. He fell asleep, fell into something deeper than sleep, on the stained living room carpet, wanting to object but knowing that he shouldn't.

When he woke up, the weight behind his hips and in his crotch was too substantial for him to stand up. And there was a steel framework next to Mark's desk in the living room.

"Yeah, not going to be standing up from here on in, buddy," said Mark, as Derrick tried to get up and failed. "Here, come here, suck me off, and you'll get your visit to the bathroom."

Derrick tensed, and Mark raised an eyebrow. He crawled over to Mark's chair, and sucked him off. This time, he wasn't playing something while he did it; he was fucking Derrick's face, his hands in his hair, on his neck. And it felt good. Derrick didn't want it to, but it did. Even the slide of his cock over his tongue, even the pressure at the back of his throat which made him gag and cough. He did what Mark wanted; his hands on Mark's cock, looking up at Mark as Mark watched porn. Then that stiff, choking finish, the acrid salt of his come in Derrick's mouth.

And then a trip to the bathroom, where Mark gave him an enema—that felt good too, the pressure of it, the way he felt loose and clean afterward. It felt good, and he hated that it felt good. The feel of Mark's hands on his sides and hips. . . the pressure behind his hips was building again.

The steel framework was set up so that it held Derrick up when he was on his hands and knees. Mark didn't have to hold him up when he milked him. Two fingers inside him, and his other hand stroking Derrick's balls as he thrust into the tube that was fastened to his cock. He was going to pass out when it was done, like always. It was going to be worse when he was done, like always. But if he closed his eyes and didn't think, it was pleasant, it was relaxing, it was urgent and it felt good.

When the orgasm came, it was stronger and better than any orgasm that Derrick had before then. It seemed to last forever; nothing but waves of pleasure, over and over, flowing through him. They'd all been better than anything he'd had before, ever since Mark had started doing... whatever it was that he was doing.

He might have cried before he passed out. But by the time he woke up, there was that urgency behind his hips again. He was still attached to the framework; he looked over at Mark, who was playing his game again.

Mark ignored him. He tried to ignore Mark, tried to get his hands loose from the thing, but there were cuffs there holding him to it.

He was going to have to ask.

"Mark?" he said, weakly. "I need... please?"

Mark shook his head. "Three hours until the next milking."

Three hours? But that was...

"First comes your lunch, buttercup."

Derrick groaned, tried to get free.

"Tell you what," said Mark. "If you're a good boy and eat your whole lunch quickly, I'll let you loose afterward to suck my cock until it's time for your next milking."

"Mark," said Derrick. "Why are you... what's the..."

Mark shook his head. "Hey, somebody has to pay the bills now that you're not going into work. And because I like having my dick sucked. So are you going to be good, or do you want to try to do it your way again?"

Derrick flushed, looked straight ahead.

"I need an answer," said Mark.

"I'll be good," said Derrick. It was already hurting. Three hours?

Mark laughed, and went to the kitchen to get Derrick's lunch. Which turned out to be a sort of oatmeal slop that had a strongly medicinal taste. It was awful, but Derrick ate it as quickly as he could, and then kept his mouth on Mark's cock the whole time until it was time for him to be milked again, and he could pass out, briefly content, briefly himself, briefly afraid and wanting out.

It was like that for the next... however long it was. Derrick had no idea how long he slept between milkings. He'd get fed, he'd get cleaned out, he'd have to suck Mark's cock.

One time, when he woke up, there was a heavy earring on his right ear. When he saw himself in the reflection in Mark's glasses, it was plastic, and had numbers on it. He didn't ask about it, because asking meant that Mark would delay his feedings, or his milkings, or wouldn't let him suck on his cock, and Derrick had started to need all three of those equally, even though he hated them all.

And then came the day there was someone else there. A guy wearing a suit, looking impatient as Derrick woke up.

Mark had moved his milking rack up onto the dining room table, so Derrick was fastened there--he hadn't been allowed to stand at all, every since that day he'd come out with the cow paint on, so it was the highest that he'd been in a while. He tried to pull away, to hide himself, but it was useless; the rack was fastened firmly to the table. He looked at Mark, who was leaning against the wall, grinning. The guy reached over, cupped Derrick's balls.

"He's been producing well," he said. The sensation was... it was almost unbearably good, the way it was when Mark touched him. His skin had become ever more sensitive, and there was something about....

"Sure," said Mark.

The guy moved Derrick's testicles around, feeling them all over, analytically. "No polyps, no irregularities. You know that production goes down after they're moved to the facility; a milker like this one...."

"Yeah, it's nice having him around, no question," said Mark. "But I feel like it'd make the next guy a little suspicious, you know?"

Suit guy sighed, patted Derrick's flank impersonally. "I'm just saying, you'd be making more keeping him producing at this rate, rather than breaking in someone new."

Mark shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "But where's the fun in that?"

Suit guy looked at him.

"I mean, seriously. The look on his face, when I made him put on the cow makeup, and beg for cock?" His smirk turned into a smile; a sharper, harder smile. "There's nothing like that in the world."

"If you say so," said suit guy. "I'll get the truck ready."

"And you'll get my ad where the people who need to see it can see it," said Mark.

"Same as always," said suit guy.

He turned and left. Derrick looked at Mark, wide-eyed, trying to get something, trying to say something, but it had been so long since he'd been allowed to talk that he wasn't sure how to do that.

"Yeah, I know," said Mark, patting Derrick's hair. "But honestly, now that the fight is gone, you're not as much fun anymore." Then he leaned in close, even though there wasn't anyone else there. "Going to miss sucking. And the milking is going to be less personal. But don't worry. Every so often, they get someone who responds differently to the process. And since cows produce better when they get prodded now and then, they let those guys mount you, one after another. Big cocks instead of vestigial one's like your thing."

He tapped Derrick's cock, which made him tear up and lurch forward in the milking rack. "It's going to be nothing but milking and mounting for you here on in," said Mike. "So smile, buttercup."


End file.
